


take me by the hand and tell me

by preromantics



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First kiss fic featuring movies, car singing, picnics, and Brittany's ninth sense. <i>They don't hold hands, not really, but when Kurt takes his hand away for a moment in the middle of the movie to rub some warmth back into his fingers before putting his hand back, Blaine takes it and presses his palm over the back of Kurt's hand, reaching with his fingers to rub circles against his knuckles.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	take me by the hand and tell me

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 11/20/2010.

Kurt really isn't annoyed about it. He's not even dwelling on it, it barely comes up. 

"So your boy is a really good kisser," Santana says when Kurt sits down. She's sitting down on the risers before practice with Brittany, touching up her mascara while Brittany holds a compact. 

"What?" Kurt asks -- makes the mistake of asking. It's not like Santana could have -- there isn't a way she could know that, despite the running number of guys she's kissed. (He knows the running number, it's constantly updated on the wall of the Boy's bathroom nearest the gym.)

"I told Santana he has to be a good kisser," Brittany says, before Santana can elaborate, "I can tell by people's faces. It's like a ninth sense." 

Kurt relaxes back into his seat and shakes his head, just once. 

"Sixth sense, Brit," Santana corrects, taking the compact from her and snapping it shut. "Not ninth."

Kurt watches as Brittany shakes her head. "No, ninth sense -- I already have all the other ones --"

More of the club walks in, the doors banging open loud enough to distract Kurt from wondering if Blaine actually would be a good kisser -- and then think about how he doesn't actually know, and maybe never will, since there have been plenty of opportunities now, and --

"-- five is taste, six is smell, and seven is my nipples and the weather, and eight is how I can see the Spanish test answers in Mr. Shue's glasses now that I sit in the front row, so that makes nine the --"

\-- it doesn't matter anyway. Really. 

"We're going to talk about this later," Santana says, raising an eyebrow at Kurt when Brittany has finished with her list and Mr. Shue has finally walked in. 

"We're not," Kurt says, turning back in his chair so he can face forward. Blaine is meeting him after practice, anyway, so there wouldn't be time even if Kurt had something to talk to Santana about -- or even wanted to. It doesn't bother him enough that he'd go as far as to talk to Santana about it. 

  
-

  
They go to the movies and Kurt keeps his hand out on the armrest between them, even though it gives him an upper-arm cramp and makes his fingers go a little numb with cold. 

They don't hold hands, not really, but when Kurt takes his hand away for a moment in the middle of the movie to rub some warmth back into his fingers before putting his hand back, Blaine takes it and presses his palm over the back of Kurt's hand, reaching with his fingers to rub circles against his knuckles. 

It's not quite what Kurt was going for, but it's also kind of better, and still too ambiguous. There's a moment after the movie in Blaine's car, just sitting there waiting for the light to change so they can get out of the parking lot, where the music on the radio changes and Blaine stops harmonizing to  _Paparazzi_ , and he catches Kurt unabashedly grinning at him. (Kurt didn't mean to stare, really, but watching Blaine sing and tap his fingers along the steering wheel, just being out with someone who actually wanted to be out with him, doing things, friendship-wise or whatever -- it was. Nice, really nice.)

"Did I sound awful?" Blaine asks, before Kurt can fix the expression on his face. "I know I'm no Lady Gaga, but car singing shouldn't be judged, it's all about the letting go and not the notes."

"Car singing," Kurt repeats. "You didn't sound awful, but -- I'll have to try that sometime."

"It's like shower singing but better," Blaine says, leaning to turn up the radio as the light changes, "because there is always the chance people can hear and see you in the next car over."

Kurt just raises an eyebrow at him, the moment over. Blaine turns the car out onto the street but reaches over and turns the radio up even more, looking over at Kurt with a wide grin. "So try it now, with me," he says, jumping into the verse as soon as he looks back out at the road.

Kurt takes a deep breath and curls the fingers of the hand Blaine had almost-held in the theater against his thigh and he sings along, loud and obnoxiously until they pull up into Kurt's driveway, laughing at their horrible harmonies. Kurt's still sort of giddy with it by the time he gets to the door that he doesn't even think about how he could have lingered in the car, how maybe Blaine would have kissed him then.

  
-

  
They text a lot, and Kurt would be lying if he said it didn't make almost every day just that much better. 

 _meet me after practice at the park. come hungry!_  Blaine texts, Kurt's phone buzzing against his thigh during English. 

He gets little notes like that, plans and comments through out the day, bits of advice and funny things. With every text, though, the tight feeling he gets in his chest that is inexplicably enjoyable and warm doesn't lessen any since the first time he met Blaine, and even though he tries not to speed to the park after practice, he ends up almost peeling out of McKinley's parking lot, just glad to get away. 

  
-

  
Blaine is standing against his car in the park parking lot, empty except for the addition of Kurt's car and a beat up jeep in the far corner. There is a wicker basket at his feet and a red and white checked blanket rolled up under his arm.

"We're having a picnic?" Kurt asks, walking over from his own car, keeping his grin as small as he can.

"Hi to you too." Blaine says, dry even though he's grinning. 

"Hi," Kurt says, back, quickly. "So, a picnic?"

"I've known you for two months," Blaine says with a shrug, "I figured it was picnic time."

"Is that traditional for you?" Kurt asks, leaning in to brush their shoulder's together before bending down to pick up the basket at Blaine's feet.

Blaine knocks his hand away. "As of today it is," he says, fingers lingering at Kurt's wrist long enough that Kurt can feel the warmth of them on his skin even as he starts to follow Blaine towards the middle of the park. 

They stop at one of the bigger trees in the middle where Blaine sets down the basket and moves to shake out the blanket, kneeling down on it to smooth it out while Kurt stands and watches the muscles in his shoulders shift while he bends.

"Take the tree," Blaine says from his crouch, straightening out the edge of the blanket opposite from where Kurt is standing. When he looks up to where Kurt is -- still just sort of staring down at the checkered picnic blanket and the wicker basket and Blaine on the ground in a white button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows -- Kurt falters, for a second.

He looks at the tree one edge of the blanket is against and then back down. "Don't want to get bark on my -- on this," he says, gesturing down at his cropped jacket, which is material bordering on velvet and velour but in a good way (and also Marc Jacobs, so) when he realizes Blaine is probably waiting for him to sit. "You take the tree." (It's not even for entirely unselfish reasons, either, because Kurt figures his view will be even better if he gets to look at Blaine lounging back against a tree.)

Kurt settles himself opposite Blaine on the blanket, the basket between them, and watches as Blaine unpacks the contents -- plates, real plates (not even Chinet, which Kurt would have appreciated all the same) and silver wear and then tupperware containers of --

"You cooked?" Kurt asks, inhaling some sort of warm and nutty smell when Blaine pops open a container lid. 

"Sort of," Blaine says, "a little. I thought it would be way better than trying to figure out how to use the grills in the park and marginally better than cold deli meat sandwiches." 

"You cooked. Wow, okay," Kurt says, mostly to himself, and Blaine just grins at him quick and brief. 

After the place settings and the containers of food, a cheese log with crackers and thermos of soup -- "It's just Cambell's, I only threw it on the stove and then into the container," Blaine said, when he started to pour some into the bowl in front of Kurt, "There was some organic stuff at the store but the expiration date didn't have an actual year, so I figured we'd be better off not chancing food poisoning." -- are the glasses.

Blaine pauses with one of the glasses in his hand, looking over at Kurt intently. "It's too much, isn't it -- all of this?"

"Too much?" Kurt repeats, looking at the basket and the checker-print blanket and Blaine in front of him with -- with freezer chilled tulip champagne flutes -- and, "God, no. It's sort of perfect, actually."

Blaine ducks his head down, just barely noticeable, but Kurt feels that same surge of warmth down the back of his neck and in his chest that he's been feeling lately and grins because he can't help it. 

Blaine sets down the last glass next to Kurt's knee on a napkin. "I just wanted this to be really nice for you," he says, hands hovering over the basket. 

Kurt reaches down for his spoon to stir his soup just to have something to do with his hands (that isn't awkwardly reaching out to drag Blaine down over all the food). "Nice just for me?" he asks. 

"Mainly nice for you," Blaine says, after a second. "I like seeing you happy and comfortable, you know, so maybe it's kind of selfish in a way, because it makes me feel great, but I just want this all to be something you'll remember." 

"I'll definitely remember this," Kurt says, maybe a little too quick, but Blaine's nose crinkles up just a little with his smile and Kurt's finger slips down into his soup along with the spoon for a brief second. 

"I'm going to remember, too," Blaine says, finally reaching into the basket and pulling out a bottle. "It's just sparkling water," he says, pulling off the foil wrapper and dropping it back in the basket, "but I thought --"

"Sparkling water is great," Kurt says, "really."

Blaine finally sits back when he's finished pouring into both of their glasses, even waiting for the foam at the top of Kurt's to settle down until he could top off the entire glass without having it overflow, and Kurt doesn't even  _care_ , not really, because Blaine could have packed a beach towel and 99 cent cans of Mountain Dew and Kurt still would be sitting across from wishing it wouldn't be stupid to sit on his own hands. 

(It's all really, really nice, though.)

Blaine tells Kurt about the most recent incident he's had with his smoothie maker while they eat; how it's really hard to get bits of mashed up banana and strawberry off of the ceiling without managing a combo of interesting balancing act and high cardio ab workout. 

"Alright," Kurt says, when Blaine pulls out the pie -- Kurt hasn't had real warm pie in so long; Finn's mom makes apple pie sometimes, but it's the berry-tart kinds that are Kurt's favorite, so he usually passes. "This is maybe a little too much."

Blaine laughs at that, easy, passing over Kurt's slice of pie anyway. "I think I have to agree," he says. "I just --"

"Wanted it to be nice for me," Kurt finishes, only barely managing not to moan in passing at the first bite of his pie -- blueberry tart. 

Blaine nods. He has the tiniest smear of dark blue berry at the top of his mouth. 

"But why?" Kurt asks, "why all of this?"

Blaine rubs a hand over his face for a second, but Kurt follows the motion and notices the berry stain remains. "Because I wanted to," he says. "Because -- I've never had anyone I've actually wanted to do all of this for, and now I know you and think about you all the time, which is stupid, right? Except I planned this for days, just because I knew I'd get to see you grinning and carefree and away from everything, and I wanted to see that because it makes me feel -- feel a lot of things, actually."

Kurt really doesn't care about kneeling in the blueberry tart pie when he moves to crawl over the picnic basket to get to where Blaine is leaning against the tree; at least, he doesn't care until he has a brief afterthought where he's really glad he doesn't actually land in any food. He knocks over his glass, but it's empty, and Blaine is right in front of him, still leaning back against the trunk of the tree, Kurt crouched over one of his legs. 

He thinks of a hundred things to say; quotes from movies that he's stored up for moments like this and played out in his head, but he doesn't need any of them. "Blaine," he says, too quiet at first, and then, "Blaine. Just kiss me." 

Blaine smiles wide, his teeth showing, his eyes narrowing, all up close. "I was leading up to that, you --" he starts, but Kurt shakes his head and leans all the way forward, pressing his lips against Blaine's, barely parted, tongue darting out just barely to get at the blueberry stain. 

It takes a second: Kurt almost loses his balance and kicks the wicker basket to steady himself. Blaine's hands come up, one behind Kurt's head and the other around his back, under his short coat to the thin shirt underneath, pressing him even closer, and Kurt is pretty certain being unable to stop smiling with his mouth is not conductive to kissing but this -- this is a kiss. 

It's Blaine, his fingers pressing along Kurt's spine and in his hair, his lips warm and slick, hard pressure but not rushed or sloppy. It's 

"That was," Kurt says, just on a breath when he pulls back. 

"Yeah," Blaine says, shifting to sit up from the tree, dragging his teeth along his dark and slick bottom lip in a way Kurt can barely stand to watch. "That's -- that's why I didn't kiss you in my car, or at the movies, or any of the times I really, really wanted to. I wanted this. For you and for me." 

"I know," Kurt says, and the second he gets it out he's not even surprised that it's true. He knew, he was waiting. (Also, Blaine really, really wanted to kiss him before this, which his brain helpfully supplies as a running dialogue loop.)

"I didn't want you to think I wasn't into you like this," Blaine says, pausing to dart forward and kiss Kurt again, just a peck, Kurt leaning forward to follow him away as soon as he leans back. "Because I'm definitely into you like this."

"I couldn't tell," Kurt quips, humming with it, leaning forward until Blaine leans back against the tree again. 

"Look at you," Blaine says, "all cocky now."

"Blueberry tart is my favorite kind of pie," Kurt says conversationally, settling more comfortably between Blaine's legs, not even caring that his face probably looks ridiculous with how everything is so, so good in this moment.

"Really?" Blaine asks, playing along, even though his hand is slowly pressing too-warm circles into Kurt's lower back, nails scratching dull sparks down his spine, "It's my favorite kind, too. You only like me for my taste in pie, don't you?"

Kurt doesn't bother responding, just leans all the way forward, letting his weight rest comfortably on Blaine's chest and leaning so they can kiss again, even though the late-afternoon wind is getting a little too cold, and the sounds of the park are picking up with post-work jog-aholics, because he can and he wants to and apparently, Blaine really does want to kiss him after all. 

After a minute, Blaine drags the hand he has on Kurt's back to Kurt's thigh, where Kurt's own free hand is reflexively digging into the denim of his jeans, and he threads their fingers together, grinning into their kiss and throwing it all off center. Kurt moves with him when Blaine slides down the tree, laying down, holding his hand and kissing him breathless in the middle of the park and -- and it's definitely something Kurt will remember. 

"I'm almost sorry," Blaine says, after they part, a completely open ended sentence. 

Kurt rolls over a little and -- there's the unfinished blueberry tart right under his elbow, all over his jacket. Blaine leans up to look and laughs a little at the mess, low, leaning over Kurt and dragging his lips down his jaw just for a second. 

"Almost sorry, what?" Kurt asks.

"Almost sorry I didn't do this sooner, but this was -- the waiting was better, it made it perfect." Blaine says. 

"Anytime would have been perfect," Kurt says, honestly, but hums after, agreeing. This was -- something else. Worth the wait.

"Also, If it makes you feel any better about your pie," Blaine adds, a few minutes later, while Kurt looses track of time running the fingers of his free hand along Blaine's upper arm, "I think I sat in all the left over soup."

"Poor planning," Kurt says. 

"Well," Blaine says, "we know what not to do next time."

"Next time," Kurt agrees, grinning at the irrationally pleased feeling he gets from just two words. "I'll plan and there will be no stains."

Blaine rolls over and up, his face hanging over Kurt's. "Deal," he says, and leans down, easy and slow in a way that Kurt will really be able to get used to.

  
-

  
"Just so you know: he is," Kurt says conversationally, a few days later when Santana and Brittany walk into practice.

Santana just rolls her eyes in a way that could mean she doesn't know what he's talking about and that she knows exactly what he's talking about and doesn't care.

Brittany turns from her side and grins at him, though. "I knew it," she says, "my ninth sense is never wrong."

Kurt's phone buzzes against his thigh just as practice starts:  _karaoke night: a) cliche, b) a horrible idea, c) something we should sing 'my heart will go on' as a duet during, or d) something we should skip so i can show you my new 1100 thread count sheets?_

Kurt responds with  _all of the above_  (because karaoke is cliche, a horrible idea, but also something they should sing a really tacky duet for, and he really, really wants to see Blaine's sheets). He slips his phone back into his pocket wondering how he got such a weird -- amazing -- boyfriend (a word that newly exists in direct relation to Kurt's life, now) as he sings along to the warm-up scale, hitting each note perfectly.


End file.
